Kill of the Night
by Shae07
Summary: Steve can't quite figure out the new recruit, but he knows there's something different about you. A/N: Monster of the Week. Reviews are welcomed. Warnings: a little smut, a little angst
1. Kill of the Night

**The danger is I'm dangerous and I might just tear you apart. **

"_I don't trust a guy without a dark side."_

Tony had said those words to him once and they echo in back of Steve's mind everytime he looks at you. The two of you are sparring in the gym and he blocks your right hook, it's obvious you're holding back.

"Stop pulling your punches," Steve says flatly, his eyes watching you closely.

You take a step back, tilting your head in confusion, "I'm not."

"You are," he rests his hands on his hips.

"I'm really not that strong," you look at him innocently, knowing he's not buying it. You shake your head with a little laugh. "Why don't you like me Rogers?"

"Because I haven't figured you out yet?"

You've only been on the team a little over three months now. Fury had recruited you. Another assassin like Barton and Romanoff, someone who could easily blend in and be stealthy, whose face hadn't been plastered all over the news for saving the world.

Everyone thinks you're amazing, which frustrates him, because Steve doesn't understand why he can't shake the feeling you're hiding something.

**Chicago**

You had asked Tony for a couple days off because you needed to take care of some family business in Chicago. It hadn't been a _complete _lie.

You land a hard kick to the vampire's chest, knocking him back and into the wall of the dark warehouse. The headless body of another vamp lying close by. You have missed this feeling – control – the pure adrenaline rush of being the strongest person in the room. You twirl the machete in your hand expertly with a malicious smile.

"Fucking traitor," the man seethes through his fangs. "Hunter bitch."

"Should have kept those fangs clean Hank," you say as you approach him menacingly. "You think I like having to come in and clean house?" A low snarl escapes his bloodied mouth and you smirk. "Okay – maybe a little, but I do have a day job now, so as much as I'd love to drag this out –"

You raise the blade in your hand as you spin swiftly, slicing through this neck. The sickening sound of the metal ripping through the flesh and bone echoes through the warehouse as does the _thud_ of Hank's head as it lands hard on the floor, followed by his collapsing body.

The low rumble of a car engine catches your attention and you head for the door of the building with an all-knowing smile, stopping to drag the machete across the back of the other dead vampire, wiping the blood from the blade.

You exit the building smiling at the man who walks around the front of the black car, "You're late to the party."

"I wasn't invited," he remarks, before opening the rear passenger door, revealing a cooler in the seat.

"You're always invited, but where's my favorite Winchester?"

The green-eyed man gives you an unimpressed look, "He's busy. How's your little side mission going? Do you have a lame superhero name yet?"

It's your turn to give him a look as you lean against the rear panel of the Impala, "Nothing out of the ordinary so far, everything's above board. I think they could be useful once they know about – this stuff." You point your machete toward the warehouse.

"It's not a bad idea having them in our corner," Dean states pulling a beer from the cooler.

"I'm just not sure if they're ready to know about everything that goes bump in the night," you respond with a sigh.

"Come on, they fought aliens."

"Yea," you begin, and he can see the touch of sadness in your eyes, "but this – this is different. It's dark and twisted. Not exactly a world you _want_ to introduce people to."

Dean stares at you for a moment, "Hey, you okay?"

You give him a small smile at his concern, "Yea, I'm starving though."

He reaches into the cooler, "This is why I'm your favorite." He tosses the blood bag to you with a smirk as you begin to drink from it hungrily. "Why haven't you been feeding?"

"Someone's always there," you take another long sip from the bag. "It's hard to sneak off to a blood bank."

"Just be careful," the hunter responds. "You're still new to this."

"Always," you smile at him.

**New York**

You make your way into your room at the compound and flip the light on, your whole body jerks in surprise at the man sitting at your desk.

"Shit!" You shriek at him. "What the fuck Rogers?"

His face is tense, and you can't help but feel as if he's about to lecture you on something, probably your abuse of the word _fuck. _You look away as you move to drop your bag on the bed to unpack it.

"I followed you," Steve says and you stop unpacking your bag as he continues. "To Chicago. I saw what you did in the warehouse. Overheard you and the guy talking by the car."

You turn around slowly, gritting your teeth as you try to keep your anger in check, "You were spying on me?"

"I wanted to figure you out," he states.

"Well, you happy now?" You pop off at him. "Did you figure me out Captain? Like what you saw?"

"Don't worry, your secret's safe with me," he leans back in the chair, arms folded across his chest. "I actually want to make you deal."

"A deal?" Your brows furrow in uncertainty.

"I'll help with the blood bags, making sure you can get those without being noticed, as long as you do something for me," he begins, his eyes following you as you sit slowing on the edge of your bed.

"What's that?" You ask hesitantly.

"You can start by telling me about the things that go bump in the night – other than you," he states, leaning forward in the chair, resting his elbows on his knees. "And next time, you take me."

"On a hunt?" You raise an eyebrow curiously and he nods as a slow smile crosses his face.

"Deal."

**2 Months Later**

"We won't have an extraction for at least an hour," Stark's voice comes across the coms. "Barton do a perimeter sweep. Everyone else – get comfy."

A small Hydra facility was supposed to be an easy take down and it was except for one of the Hydra agents had blown up the quinjet before Clint had a chance to take him out. Leaving you all stranded for the moment. No big deal, except your duffel had been on the quinjet, in it was a change of clothes and a couple blood bags in case of emergencies.

You stand against the wall, clutching the gunshot wound below your ribcage as blood oozes through your fingers. Four dead Hydra agents are scattered about the floor of the room and for once you wish you'd left at least one of them breathing. Dead man's blood is toxic to you, so the agents in the floor are useless to you as long as they aren't breathing.

"Stark," Steve's voice echoes in the room, as well as the comm in your ear and you glance over to see him striding towards you. "We're going to do one last sweep up here. We'll meet you outside in ten." He pulls his helmet from his head, tossing it onto the desk beside you, and jerks the device from his ear, powering it down. You slowly do the same with your comm.

"Are you okay?" He asks quickly.

"Just peachy," you joke as he pulls your hand away to look at the wound.

"Why aren't you healing?"

"I haven't fed in over twenty-four hours," you comment. "My – uh – in case of _this _supply was on the jet." The pain shoots through you as Steve applies pressure to the wound and you double over, letting out a small cry. "Sonofabitch!"

"Keep pressure on it," he orders you as he takes your hands and places them back over hole, the warmth of the blood is oddly comforting against them. "You know." Steve begins, trying to keep your mind off of it as he removes the glove from his right hand. "For a vampire, you're kind of a wuss."

"I hate you Rogers," you say through clenched teeth as he pulls the sleeve up on his arm.

"No you don't," Steve says extending his bare wrist to you. "Here."

"What?" You look up at him in shock. "No."

"Do you have a better idea?" The look he gives you is smug, and it makes you want to slap him. Ever since he's started hunting with you on the side Steve Rogers' has become bolder – cocky. Captain America isn't a killer like the rest of you, he doesn't have a dark side he shows to the world.

Except when he's hunting monsters and only you get to see that side of him.

It's a good side.

You take his wrist slowly, your blood smearing across his skin as you stare at the blue pulsing vein just below the surface of his skin. The fangs extend instinctively, your body in survival mode and Steve's eyes widen at the action. You can hear his heart rate increase as you lean forward gently putting your mouth on his wrist, running your tongue lighting along the pulse point before you tighten your grip on his arm. You bite into the vein softly before retracting the fangs as the warm, thick blood flows into you.

Steve Rogers may be a walking sex and righteousness, but he fucking tastes orgasmic.

Maybe it's him or maybe it's the serum running through his veins, but you've never had blood like this before. You clutch at his forearm, feeling the fire coursing through your body and the wound on your side healing in record time.

In a flash of movement, you spin him around, slamming Steve so hard against the wall it cracks around him in spiderweb-like tendrils and he releases a groan as the air is knocked from his lungs. Your mouth never leaves his wrist as you continue to drink from him in long, slow pulls, savoring every last drop. You press your body into his – no inhibitions – drunk off euphoria.

Steve is watching you with surprise, he wasn't sure what to expect, but hungrily going at him like a feral animal was one thought. Instead, the control you're showing and obvious pleasure you're taking from it, drives him wild. With your body pressing against his there's no hiding his arousal at this situation and he clenches his jaw when you finally pull your lips from his wrist. You reach up to innocently wipe the corner of your mouth with your thumb.

"Thanks," you look up to meet his gaze, lips twisting up in a knowing smile.

You watch his eyes flick to your lips for a moment before his hand flies to the back of your head, grabbing you roughly before his lips crash against yours. His tongue explores your mouth, writhing with yours, tasting the metallic remnants of the blood you crave. Knowing it's his blood twists something inside him and he clutches you harder. His mouth is harsh and domineering and you allow it.

Not everyone is accepting of the dark, most people run from.

Steve Rogers isn't afraid of the darkness.

He thrives there.

A voice from the doorway is like a shot of lightning separating the two of you, "Holy shit."

You both look at Tony, wild-eyed in embarrassment and confusion. Steve manages to speak first, "How long were you standing there?"

"Oh," Stark glances over at you in curiosity. "Long enough to see True Blood over there."

"I can explain," you say quietly.

"And you will," Stark replies sharply, then shakes his head in disbelief. "A vampire – really?" He turns to walk out of the room muttering to himself. "I swear if Barton's a werewolf, I fucking quit."


	2. Devil's Playground

**You can tread where demons play.**

_**3 Months Earlier**_

Silver. Iron. Salt. Holy water.

You had prepped Steve on the more basic monsters: ghosts, ghouls, vampires, werewolves, and demons. Ever the perfect student, writing in his notebook, as he asked follow up questions. This wouldn't last long once you had America's golden boy in the field though. Captain America wasn't a killer and to be a hunter usually meant kill or be killed. This guy wouldn't stand a chance and you could still hear the sound of Dean's laughter on the phone at the idea of it. He was nothing like you, it takes a special breed to be a hunter and Steve Rogers wasn't cut out for it.

"Here's the address," you handed him a slip of paper. "Meet me there around nine tonight. Don't wear the suit." You punctuated the last sentence, pointing your index finger at him.

"I'll be there."

And he was.

Early in fact, dressed in boots, jeans, and a long-sleeve blue Henley, which clung to every serum enhanced muscle a man shouldn't even possess.

It was ridiculous.

You wish he'd worn the fucking suit instead.

"Ready?" he questioned you, which snapped your thoughts back to the task at hand.

"Yea," you passed him a machete. "Remember, off with the head. That's the only way."

"Got it."

The two of you had made your way into the rundown facility slowly, home to a small nest of vamps, four to six. Enough to be a challenge for you, but not enough to get Captain America killed.

What happened next you weren't prepared for.

You had moved quickly, blade slicing easily through the first vamp who lunged for you, all while keeping an eye on Rogers. Two women rushed toward him while guttural snarls ripped from their chests as they revealed their fangs. Without hesitation Steve moved with more finesse than a hunter with twice your experience.

You hesitated.

He twirled the machete in his hand as two separate heads bounced off the concrete around him, bodies dropping where they stood. Another vamp was making its way towards him and you couldn't tear your eyes away as Steve went toe to toe with that one. Why was he fighting it instead of killing it right off and you realized he wasn't fighting, he was playing with it.

Like a cat with a mouse.

You stood there slack-jawed even as one lunged for you. A quick back handed swing and you had decapitated your attacker without even looking – perks of vamp hearing. Steve kicked the next guy, knocking him back, and you had saw the expression on his face.

He _was_ enjoying it.

Captain America wasn't a killer.

But is wasn't Captain America, it was Steve Rogers.

His jaw clenched as he swung the machete with his right hand like a baseball bat. An almost primal sound escaped his lips, and you knew it was him, because there were no more vampires in the building.

Blood was splattered across his face, staining his shirt in small splotches of dark red. The muscles in his arm rippled underneath the material as he gripped the machete tighter in his hand. A slight rise and fall of his shoulders as his breaths came slow and shallow. He scanned the room slowly for anymore vamps, before his gaze landed on you.

The look in his eyes was cold – dark.

You had underestimated him.

For a moment you wondered if he'd kill you too.

"What?" he questioned you as you stared at him in bewilderment.

You shook your head, "Nothing."

"You know," he began as he pointed the machete at you, barely able to contain the morbid excitement in his voice. "I read a newspaper article earlier. I think there might be a werewolf two towns over."

You laughed and rolled your eyes at him, "Easy tiger. One hunt at a time."

**Now**

The ping of your phone alerts you to a text message and pick it up from your desk to read it.

_Steve: Road trip? I have us a case._

You let out a sigh and quickly type in your response.

_I can't. I'm busy._

There's an immediate knock on your door and you glance over in annoyance before standing up and moving over to open it.

"No, you're not," Steve states as soon as you pull open the door, brushing his way past you into your room.

"Really?"

"Tony's out of the country. Everything's quiet," he says, sitting on the edge of your bed. "Let's get out of here."

He acts as if he didn't have his tongue down your throat almost a month ago. Neither of you have brought it up, spent more time doing damage control on Tony finding out you're a vampire. It was purely an adrenaline rush – blood rush. That's why you stick to blood bags, less emotion that way.

"I don't know Steve."

"Please," he says it softly.

It's not like he can go to anyone else, no one else knows what you and he do in the shadows. A secret only the two of you share and you sigh because Steve Rogers is going to be the death of you.

"Fine."

"No," you stomp your foot like a hormonal teenager. "I'm done. I need a drink. A bed. A real shower. Preferably not in that order." Steve stares at you, there's blood splattered across your cheek and a chunk of something bloody and gooey in your hair. He reaches to pull it out gently, tossing it to the side before you can see it. "It's been three days. First the ghost, then a wraith, now a ghoul. I need a break."

The two of you have been going non-stop since you left the compound. He'd been going non-stop. You were only along for the ride. There's a freedom in hunting, unlike anything he's found before. The stress of being the strait-laced leader. The one everyone looks to for guidance. It can take a toll on even the strongest of men.

"Okay, I saw a hotel on the way in," he comments.

"It better have a bar."

It does, as well as large suites with king size beds and giant jacuzzi tubs, much nicer than the rundown fleabag motels you're used to staying in. Being an Avenger has its advantages. Unfortunately, being a vampire has its disadvantages. You're hungry. You hadn't planned on being gone so long and now your out of blood bags. Having used your last one to heal the damage when the wraith had slammed it's spike into your chest.

After a long, scorching hot shower, you get dressed and head down to the bar. Intent on drinking idly while searching for someone you can use. You don't like it, but you won't take much, and they won't remember a thing.

Steve stops as he enters the room, seeing you at the bar. The black dress you're wearing is Romanoff's, he recognizes it, wondering if you found it on the quinjet. Your legs on full display, shimmering in the blue glow of the bar lighting. Hair falls down around your face and your eyeshadow is dark, a contrast to the almost red tint to your lips.

It's obvious you're hunting a different prey.

Beautiful, breathtakingly so, is how anyone else would describe you, but they don't know you like he does. Those manicured fingers can rip out hearts, he's witnessed it.

He loved it.

You're fucking dangerous, gorgeously so.

"Any luck?" he questions, moving to sit beside you at the bar.

"No," your tone sounds irritated, "and I won't as long as you're sitting there."

"So," he remarks with that cocky grin you've grown to despise.

"Really? That's low. I'm hungry," you shake your head at him. "I would never stand between you and a cheeseburger."

"Who said I'm standing in the way?" he leans back, raising an eyebrow as his hands subtly turn inward towards himself.

"Not a good idea," you say, picking up your glass.

"You've done it before."

_Now he wants to talk about it, _you think to yourself as you take a sip of your Crown and Coke.

"That was different," you finally say.

"How so?"

"It was an emergency."

"Bull shit."

"What?" you cut your eyes over to him incredulously at his tone, the smug smile playing at his lips angering you.

"I think you liked it," he says smoothly, "and I think that scares you."

Steve watches your jaw clench, his words striking a nerve, causing a rage to boil just under the surface of your façade.

Madness contained.

You stand calmly and turn sharply on your heel, walking away from the bar without so much as a word to him.

He catches up to you on the elevator, sliding inside before the doors close and you roll your eyes as he leans against the opposite wall from you, arms folded across his chest.

"I didn't – that came out wrong," he stumbles over the words. "I'm sorry."

You stare straight ahead, refusing to look at him, urging the elevator to move faster. Desperately needing to be away from him.

"I just don't understand why you wouldn't ask me?" his words are soft.

You glance up at him as the doors open. How he can be so rough and cocky, yet soft and innocent at the same time still astounds and agitates you. He follows you off the elevator, walking past the door you stop at to his.

"I won't ever ask," you state as you open the door, glancing over at him. He's swiping his keycard into the lock as he looks back you. "I don't like who I am when I feed." You begin to walk into your room, his next words stopping you for a moment.

"You should, because everything about you is amazing."

There's a moment of silence before you close the door to your room, leaving Steve to enter his alone. He tosses the keycard on the small table by the door before moving to sit in the desk chair beside the bed. Grabbing the remote from the desk he presses the power button, bringing the flat screen across the room to life and discards the controller haphazardly on top of the duvet cover next to him. He pulls the boots from his feet, staring blankly at the TV screen as a black and white film plays quietly.

The turn of the lock on the door which separates your room from his draws his attention away from the TV and he leans back in the chair. The door jerks open revealing you, still in the black dress, but your feet are bare, and you stride purposefully towards him. Steve locks his eyes with yours as you lower yourself onto his lap, a little roll of your hips making him shift under your weight. His hands are still at his sides, still unsure of what's happening, and he feels you grab his right wrist in your hand. Watching as you pull his arm up between the two of you, keeping your eyes locked on his as you place your lips on his pulse point.

A soft, tender kiss.

The pure rawness of the moment twists something deep within him. His free hand moves to the side of your face, thumb sweeping gently across your cheekbone as your lips part revealing your fangs. Strikingly white against the red tint of your plush lips. The slight pinch as you puncture the vein causes him to twitch against the fabric of his pants and you feel it, grinding your hips against him again. Desire pulsing through him as you draw him in. Watching your face soften from the ecstasy of it, your eyes full of need – for him.

When your lips pull away from his wrist, his hand drags your face to his, pressing his lips to yours gently. You taste like cherries and copper and it's heaven. He tries to hold back, fighting the urge to devour you, but you don't as you force your tongue roughly into his mouth. His hands tangle in your hair as yours tear at his pants. A wet, hot, need radiating from your core as you free him and moan against his tongue as you slide down around him. His fingers claw into your hips as he fills and stretches you with each rise and fall of your hips. He peppers kisses down your neck until he reaches the pulse point there, scraping his teeth against your skin until he bites down on your flesh, feeling you clench around him. The small cries that slip past your lips against his ear are raw and so intimate as he shatters you, that it's enough to do him in.

He's spent a lot of time fighting his demons. Not embracing his dark side.

Then you happened. Hunting and monsters.

You freed him.

He finally stopped fighting his demons.

Because your demons play well with his.


	3. Apocalyptic

**We're not us anymore, but there's still one thing we're good for.**

You're not sure when the lines started to blur.

Which one of you lost your way first?

Steve when he met you and started hunting, or you, when you chose him?

In your heart, you knew Tony was right about the Accords. You should have been on his side, but you weren't.

The damage had been done and there was no going back.

Now, the two of you are a couple of fugitives hiding in plain sight, hunting monsters the rest of world isn't even aware exist.

Long gone are the five-star hotels, now it's back to the unwelcomed familiarity of fleabag motels.

Luckily, you still have some trusted contacts.

The sound of the rain pinging against the tin roof is comforting. Jody had offered you her cabin when she found out you were on a hunt close to it and for that you are grateful. After a scalding hot shower, you rummage through the small bathroom cabinet for a first-aid kit.

_Steve stands on the opposite side of the door from you. The two of you flat against the outside wall of the cabin, pistols held closely to both your chests. No one would recognize him, the man who was once a hero to the world. Captain America._

_A good man. _

_They made him a perfect soldier._

_But the world we live in broke him – made him hard._

_His hair is getting longer, and a dark beard now covers his chiseled jaw. A contrast from the man you first met, he's no longer the clean-cut boy scout. _

_Steve Rogers is rugged and, maybe, a bit unhinged._

_He holds up his fingers to countdown from three. He gives you a nod of his head after reaching 'one', turns to face the door, and he takes a step back before he kicks the door in. It sounds like an explosion as the entire door is ripped from the frame and wood splinters as it crashes onto the floor. _

_Steve's not very good at subtle. _

_Growling erupts from inside the cabin and Steve aims his gun instinctively at one of the werewolves you've tracked to this cabin. You follow close behind him, checking the opposite side of the cabin. There's another shot from behind you as a man lunges towards you from the hallway. You fire a round into his chest, knocking him back into the wall. Watching as he crumples to the floor, you hear glass shattering and wood crunching behind you. It's a blur of motion as everything happens so fast. Turning quickly and aiming your pistol, you see a large man that Steve's apparently thrown into an entertainment center. Steve goes for his gun, which was knocked to the floor during their scuffle apparently, and another man comes from nowhere seemingly. The monster manages one swipe down with his hand before you can get two shots off into his chest. One of its claws tearing through the fabric of Steve's dark blue flannel and ripping across his shoulder blade. _

_The angry growl that cuts through the air of the cabin this time is from Steve. You're moving to check on him when a piece wood slams against the side of your face, knocking you to the floor. There's another gunshot as you begin to push yourself up from the floor, then two more shots echo through the room. You see Steve rolling the dead body of a werewolf off from on top of him before he stands up slowly. His shirt is drenched in blood and for a moment you worry some of the blood is his. Your concerns are put at ease as you stand, and he glances over to you. The hair that was loosely slicked back, now falls into his face as he gives you a wide tooth smile. He swipes at his cheek with the back of his hand, blood smearing across the exposed skin. _

"_You good?" you question, walking over to him as you wipe the blood away from the cut on your cheek. _

_He rolls his injured shoulder gingerly, "I'll live."_

"_Good to know," you smirk, tucking your pistol in the back of your jeans as Steve starts to lean into you. Your nose wrinkles in disgust and you take a quick step back, the stench of the blood covering him makes you want to gag. "Ugh, you smell like a wet dog." _

You walk into the small bedroom, holding the white and red box above your triumphantly, "Look what I found."

Steve glances at you from the edge of the bed, eyes narrowing at what you're wearing, "That's mine."

The red and black flannel you had to roll the sleeves up on is surprisingly warm and you smile as you crawl onto the bed behind him, "I know." You delicately trace the edges of the wound with your finger, it's not deep enough to need stitches. He doesn't flinch as you clean and bandage it. "All done," you say sweetly, letting him know your finished.

He pulls himself further onto the bed, turning to watch as you close up the first-aid kit. His thumb brushes the gash on your cheek that hasn't healed yet. His breath warm against your cheek as he questions softly, "Do you?"

You know exactly what he's asking as you move your hand up to the back of his neck, fingers twirling the length of hair that curls there as you say, "I have blood bag. I was taking care of you first."

His lips brush gently across the cut before he takes your chin in between his thumb and forefinger, tilting your face up to look at him. Those blue eyes gaze into your soul for a moment before he leans in, voice so low it sends a chill down your spine, "My turn then." He presses his lips against yours softly before deepening the kiss. His tongue slips past your lips and before you realize it, he's on top of you, pinning you to the mattress. Hips grinding against yours, only the thin material of his blue pajama pants acting as a barrier as he kisses you roughly once more. When his lips leave yours, there's a sense of abandonment and you prop yourself up on your elbows to watch him sliding lower.

You're not sure if heaven exists, but if it's not this man's face between your thighs, what's the point?

One look from him and you're done for.

Putty in his hands, to do with as he pleases.

Completely soaked before his tongue ever reaches you.

Steve loves it.

The two of you decide to spend a few extra days at Jody's cabin, take a little extra down time. It's secluded enough and the next afternoon the two of you head to the nearest town to pick up a few necessities. While in the small convenience store the familiar sound of a scuffle is heard a few aisles over and you both tense up as you glance over to see what's happening. There's a man in a ball cap fighting off another man who's wielding a large knife.

After a couple punches, the man in the ball cap throws the guy into a magazine display before stabbing him with what appears to be some sort of knife of his own. You see the bright orange light flash in the other man's eyes, as does Steve. _Demon. _

The stranger in the ball cap brushes his jacket off as he tucks his weapon away before heading for the exit. You and Steve exchange glances before moving to follow him. Once outside, you're surprised to see the man leaning against your car, the ball cap lying on the hood beside him.

"Dean," you say his name quietly as you approach him.

A malicious smile spreads across his face as he blinks, revealing pitch black eyes, "Kinda." You try to take a step back, but he grabs your wrist to stop you as his eyes return to their normal green state.

"Your friend's a demon?" Steve questions apprehensively.

"Where's Dean?" you seethe.

"This _is_ me now," he responds, the smug smile still on his lips as he drags a finger along your jaw. "Crossed over to the dark side – just like you."

"Leave her alone," Steve threatens, taking a step closer.

Dean cuts his eyes at him for a beat before looking back down at you. A wicked gleam in his eye, "This is going to be fun." His hand grabs the back of your head roughly, before his mouth crashes against yours.

There's barely time for you to register the action as Steve rips him away from you, landing a punch to Dean's jaw. The green-eyed man takes a few steps backwards, wiping the blood from his lip, as Steve stalks towards him. He dodges the next punch Rogers throws at him, quickly landing one of his own to the hunters face, before shoving him toward the car.

"I used to fuck her too," the demon says coldly. "She was still human then."

The words sting and you watch as Steve lunges towards him, the two of them going toe to toe. It's a flurry of punches, blocks, kicks, and a consistent battle as to which man has the upper hand in the fight. Steve has murder in his eyes, and you know there's only one way this fight will end. With one of them not walking away and your body goes numb at the thought.

"Are you bloody kidding me?" a British voice states from beside you, causing you to jump as you glance over. There stands a man dressed in a solid black suit, shaking his head in disgust as he watches the fight. "Picking a fight with Clark Kent. Seriously?"

Steve manages to get the upper hand as he slams Dean back against the car, producing the other demon's blade from the store, having grabbed it on his way out earlier. He shoves the blade up to Dean's throat as he glares at him, breathing heavily.

"Darling," Crowley states to you and a smug smile crosses Dean's lips. Rogers presses the blade harder against his throat as the man in black lifts his hand threateningly. "Call off your boy toy before I snap his neck for the fun of it."

"Steve," you move quickly to his side, grabbing the wrist he's holding the knife with and he cuts his eyes down at you, the rage boiling just under the surface. "Please."

"He's a demon," he seethes through gritted teeth. The blood from his busted lip has seeped through his beard and is now beginning to drip from his chin. "We hunt monsters – remember?"

"Not this time," you plead with him. "Let him go." You say it, not only because the other man threatened to kill him, but you can't let him kill Dean. Even if he's not Dean. He stares at you in confusion for a moment before he lowers his hand slowly, anger still apparent on his face.

"Tell Sammy I said hello," the snarky comment falls from Dean's mouth as he moves past you over to Crowley, who is giving him an angry look. Dean shrugs his shoulders. "What? I had him."

"Didn't look like it," Crowley remarks. "You're getting soft."

They're gone in the blink of an eye and you look away from the judgmental gaze of the man standing in front of you. The car ride back to the cabin is silent and your entire body is vibrating with nervous energy as you walk through the door, knowing Steve's right behind you and that his anger hasn't subsided.

"Want to tell me what happened back there?" he finally questions after shutting the door too hard.

"I don't know, I've not talked to them in a few months."

"Bull shit," his tone is harsh. "That asshole wanted to kill me, and you let him walk away. Who was he to you?"

"A friend," you open the refrigerator door, needing alcohol for this discussion.

"More than that," Steve folds his arms across his chest. "What's so special about him?" There's almost a snarl in his voice. "Tell me."

"Because at one time he believed in me!" you scream at him as you turn around, slamming the door to the refrigerator. You take a deep breath, lowering your voice, "I owe him the same. If Dean was_ really_ gone, no hope of saving him. We wouldn't have to kill him. Sam would."

Steve watches you closely as you twist the top of the beer in your hand before you turn it up for a few seconds. His voice is a bit calmer as he says, "So, he knew you when you were human?"

You nod slowly before taking another sip from the bottle as Steve moves to sit on the bar stool closest to him. "I asked him to kill me – after I was turned." He raises his eyebrows in surprise at this revelation. "He and Sam were convinced I could control it. Said if anyone could, it was me."

"They were right," he says quietly and notices the flash of sadness in your eyes.

"It was a rough few months, but we made it and things went back to normal – sort of," you state as you stare blankly at the kitchen counter in front of you. "I went back to hunting but –"

He watches as you trail off and picks up, "Things were different between the two of you."

Glancing up at him, a sad smile tugs at the corners of your lips, "Dean got to see the worst of me during that time. The twisted, dark part that my vampire side can bring out. Having known me before – it was hard for him. I don't blame him."

Steve shakes his head as you finish speaking, "His loss." You give him an appreciative grin as you place your beer on the countertop and slowly walk around the corner. "Giving you up." His hands take yours, fingers interlacing with yours as you move closer between his knees.

"For the record," you begin, "I wouldn't have let him kill you."

"Is that so?" his hands release yours and move to slip around your waist, dragging you closer him.

You eyes flick from his, down to the corner of his mouth where there's a few fresh droplets of blood from the cut on his lip. Your hands slide across his shoulders, a smirk playing on your lips as you say quietly, "Yea, you seem to like all my parts." Pressing your mouth to the corner of his, your tongue runs along the split there. The perfect mix of sweet and salty. Your very own guilty pleasure as your teeth bite gently on the lip to draw more blood from the wound, sucking it into your mouth.

His fingers dig against your skin as he pulls you tighter against him, breathing heavy words against your mouth, "I love all your parts."

Your hands cup either side of his face as you make small swipes with your tongue, cleaning the blood from his beard.

You feel his body tremble at your action and him twitch through his jeans against your thigh.

So hard – you love it.

You run the tip of your tongue along the wound once more before slipping inside his mouth to press your tongue against his. He's on his feet as he kisses you back and you're off the ground, one arm lifting you effortlessly. You wrap your legs around his waist as he begins to walk towards the bedroom.

The two of you have changed.

May be a little lost.

Twisted even.

But there's one thing you're both good for.


	4. Monster

**I'm bad for you, bad for you,**

**But I'm good at it, good at it.**

The flames dance – like lovers – orange and red curling around one another so beautifully, for a moment you almost forget about the corpse burning below.

Almost.

Abigail Thomas.

Her body had been found five years ago this month. Throat slit with the initials G.R. carved into her chest. She was engaged to a guy named Devin Mathers and he was a member of the The Annihilators, a local motorcycle club. Their biggest rival was another club, Grim Reapers. Retaliation had ensued over her death, and the two clubs have remained rivals.

The first murder had caught your attention and the second one had you and Steve on the road to investigate. Both were men, members of The Annihilators, killed within two days of each other. Found with their throats slit and the initials A.T. carved into their chest.

"What is it?" even in the glow of the small fire, Steve can see the uncertainty on your face.

"Why them?" you question. "Why not go after the Grim Reapers, if they're the ones who killed her?"

"We can't always get the answers," he replies, glancing back to the open grave at the burning remains. "At least now she can move on."

The waitress slides a plate with a large burger and fries in front of you, then a similar one in front of Steve with a warm smile before turning to walk away. The man across from you in the booth lays the tablet he was scrolling down on the table.

"Where to next?" you question him as you grab the bottle of ketchup, pouring some next to your fries.

"Yea Cap," a familiar voice says, as a man slides into the booth next to you. "Where to next?"

Sam Wilson smirks at Steve before glancing to you, his arm stretching across the back of the booth. Bucky sits down next to his friend taking in his new appearance, "Hi pal."

"What are you guys doing here?" Steve questions, surprise evident on his features.

"Just checking in on our friends," Wilson responds, pulling a fry from your plate and taking a bite of it. "We are still friends, right?"

"Yea," you state. "Of course."

"When were you going to tell us?" Barnes questions, his tone serious.

Your heart drops as you glance at Steve, _did they know_?

The only person who knew about you was Tony and he had promised to keep it a secret.

No one knew about hunting.

"Tell you – what?" Steve challenges the question, not faltering.

"About the two of you," Sam responds, and you can feel his eyes on you, but you don't look at him, instead you busy yourself with grabbing a french fry. "According to the last check in. You're supposed to be in Phoenix."

"And you're in Denver," Bucky stares at Steve, waiting for a response.

You laugh nervously, "I thought _I _was in Denver."

Steve looks across at you with a smile, "Well, I thought you were in Santa Fe." He glances between Barnes and Wilson. "Busted."

"So, this is a thing?" Wilson points his index finger between the two of you.

"No," the response is simultaneous.

Sam looks across to Bucky, one eyebrow raised suspiciously, "Uh, huh."

The TV in the corner captures your attention and you reach across to tap a finger against Steve's hand, nodding your head toward the screen. Across the bottom of the news broadcast the scrolling headline reads.

_Just in: Another man found dead tonight._

"Can you turn that up please?" you question the waitress, and she reaches for the remote.

"_Police say the cause of death is similar to the other two murders. This happened around seven-thirty tonight near the Lawson repair shop. If anyone has any information that could help, police are asking for you to call the tip line listed at the bottom of the screen," _the blonde reporter on the screen states.

You glance at Steve in concern, knowing that the two of you were burning Abigail's remains two hours before he was killed. Burning her remains hadn't released her. Something was still holding her spirit here. Bucky notices the cryptic glances you and Steve share in response to the news report.

"We should go," Steve says motioning for the waitress.

Once the bill is paid and the uneaten food is in Styrofoam boxes, the four of you make your way out of the diner.

Sam accidently bumps into a man clad in leather on his way out, apologizing instantly, "Sorry man." The dark-haired guy only glares at him in annoyance and you notice The Annihilator insignia on the back of his vest. There are a few men in the diner wearing the same vest, their mood dark and depressed, having lost one of their own.

"Where are we going?" Bucky questions, once outside. "Steve, what's going on?"

"Back to the motel," his friend replies without turning around.

"Uh," Sam's voice is almost timid. "Guys."

The three of you turn around and see Wilson with a knife to his throat, the woman holding it almost transparent. Her neck is slit open and you can see the initials carved in her chest, and the hatred on her face is unlike anything you've seen before with a spirit.

"Abigail," you call to her. "Don't. He didn't hurt you."

"I know," she replies hoarsely. "Let me finish what I started."

You shake your head in confusion, "But – you're killing the _wrong _people."

"No," she responds, moving through Sam's body towards you. "I'm not."

"What the fuck?" Sam says quietly to himself, eyes wide as he feels his chest, having just saw the apparition come out of him.

Abigail places her hand against the side of your head and your eyes roll back as you collapse to the ground, before the woman dissipates into a grey mist.

"Steve," Bucky tries to sound calm as his friend moves to pick you up from the pavement. "What the hell was that?"

"Ghost," Sam says loudly. "What that a fucking ghost?"

Cradling you against his chest, he gives a quick nod, "Yea it was. Can we go? I'll explain on the way."

"Shouldn't we take her to a hospital?" you hear Bucky ask quietly.

"No."

"Fucking ghosts man," Sam's voice is louder and frantic. "A ghost was going to kill me, and you act like it's just another Tuesday."

"She wasn't going to kill you," Steve's calm, as always.

"Really? Because that knife to my throat says otherwise."

"She wanted to send a message," Barnes comments hesitantly.

"Yea, she did," Steve agrees.

You slowly open your eyes, head pounding as you move to sit up on the motel bed, "And I got that message." The men look over to you as you gingerly tough the side of your head that Abigail had touched. "Loud and clear."

"You okay," the softness in Steve's voice – his eyes – is more than you deserve.

You give him a nod before you look at Barnes and Wilson cautiously, "Did you give them _the talk_?"

"Ghosts are real," Bucky responds.

"Yea," Sam folds his arms across his chest. "Ghostbusters._ Great. _I liked it better when we were just busting you two for hooking up."

"Next time, call first," you smirk. "I'll arrange less ghosts and more sex that day." Wilson gives you an unimpressed look as Bucky stifles a laugh.

"What did Abigail show you?" Steve's tone is serious as he changes the subject.

"Gunner Matthews," you say. "He was a Grim Reaper. She was leaving Devin for him. They were in love. When Devin found out he sent his buddies after her, to bring her back."

"The three men she's killed already?" Steve questions and you nod.

"Devin killed her. He's the final one," you continue as a thought crosses your mind and stand, moving to the table beside Steve. "Let me see the article, the one about the retaliation." Scrolling through the article you increase the size of the picture of Devin, and point to the chain around his neck. A small silver cross dangling at the end of it and you flip to the other screen of Abigail's obituary. In the portrait she's wearing the same necklace. "What do you bet he still wears her necklace?"

"That's what's keeping her here," Steve states knowingly as Wilson and Barnes watch the two of you work in unison.

"What does that mean?" Bucky questions.

"We have to get that necklace," his friend replies. "Before she kills him."

Devin Mathers sits, looking ashamed and disgusted, in a dining room chair in the middle of his living room as Steve finishes pouring a ring a salt on the wood floor around him. You hadn't told Mathers that you knew he was responsible for Abigail's murder, only that she was targeting those closest to her and he might be next. Bucky stokes the fire in the fireplace he's built as Sam holds the sawed-off shotgun loaded with rock salt in his hands.

"Yea," Wilson remarks. "We hunt ghosts now. This is _completely_ normal."

"He's not adjusting well," you smirk to Steve. "Should I tell him?"

"Tell me what?"

"That's up to you," Rogers places the bag of salt on the table as he smiles.

"Sam," you give him a serious look. "There's something else you should know." Wilson waits apprehensively for your next bombshell. "Santa Claus isn't real."

He huffs as Steve and Bucky laugh. "Shut up."

"I'm glad you all can joke while we wait for my dead fiancé, who wants to kill me, to show up," Devin says loudly from his seat.

You turn to look at him angrily, stepping over the salt circle to rip the necklace from around his neck, "You killed her. You did this to yourself asshole."

Your statement shocks him, and he glares at you, "She deserved it."

"Because she was in love with someone else," you remark. "Or because you couldn't control her anymore?"

"Women need to know their place," Devin states maliciously. "She belonged to me."

You clench your jaw and Steve can see the anger boiling up as you glare at the man in front of you. The sudden appearance of Abigail's ghostly figure surprises everyone.

"Burn it," Steve says, his voice low and authoritative.

The corners of your lips turn up slightly as you step back out of the salt circle, dragging the heel of your boot through the barrier as you toss the necklace to Barnes. He quickly tosses the silver cross into the flames, but not before Abigail is able to sweep across and slit Devin's throat. She turns to give you a small appreciative smile before her figure is engulfed in flames.

"I –" Sam looks at the scene in disbelief. "I though we didn't want her to kill him?"

You flick your eyes over to him and see Steve staring at you. The understanding in his eyes is a welcomed relief as he responds, "We can't always save everyone."

"Now what?" Bucky questions.

Placing a smile on your face you look back over to Barnes, "We celebrate."

"Drinks, yes, best plan I've heard all afternoon," Sam agrees.

Steve knew as soon as he saw the vests the men in the bar are wearing that there was only one way tonight would go – messy. The Annihilators wouldn't get word until later that another one of their members had been murdered, but it would be the last one.

The four of you enjoy a few beers and a couple games of pool for about an hour, when the trouble finally starts. You're making your way back to the table, having placed an order at the bar, when one of the bikers steps in front of you – blocking your path.

"Excuse me," you state coldly.

"When you get done playing with those guys," he begins, his tone dripping in malice, "how about you come play with a _real _man baby."

You snort, trying to hold back a laugh, "Does that line actually work on women?" You look up at him incredulously as you side-step him. "Because if it does –" you shake your head, stepping backwards to the pool table slowly, "then they must be _real _desperate. You think that vest you're wearing makes you cool. Doesn't change the fact you look like shit."

The few patrons who are listening to the exchange let out a collective _ooohhhhh_ at the comment. You turn back to the pool table to see Steve shaking his head at you, a playful glint in his eyes.

You're trouble.

An instigator.

He likes it – too much.

You grab your pool stick and as you stare at him, he wonders how obvious it would be if the two of you disappeared for a few moments. He wants to taste the beer on your lips, feel the rush he gets when you bite into his flesh, hear that smart-ass mouth of yours moaning his name as he fucks you against the bathroom stall. His thoughts are interrupted as the man moves closer towards you.

"You think you can talk to _me _like that?" he snarls. "Bitch."

You slowly turn around at the remark and glare at the leather clad man. Barnes begins to move along the opposite side of the pool table, but Steve stops him, laying the end of his pool stick against his friend's chest. Bucky glances at him and Steve gives a subtle shake of his head, indicating for Barnes to stand down.

"You need to learn your place," the biker seethes, towering over you. His words sounding much like Devin's.

"You going to teach me?" you tighten your grip on the pool stick in your hand. "Because I'd _love_ to see you try."

Sam mentally tallies up the number of guys wearing the same leather vest as the man you're currently facing off with, before he leans closer to Steve, whispering, "You know this ends in a fight, right?" Steve shrugs his shoulders as he watches your interaction with the man closely and Sam notices the slight smile on his face. "You're enjoying this. Is this like – foreplay? What the _hell _have the two of you been doing the last few months?"

The man grabs for your wrist and you side-step quicker than a normal person should, but not fast enough to raise any suspicion. You bring your knee up into his crotch forcefully and a low snarl escapes him as he doubles over in pain.

"Ah shit," Wilson sighs, as you twirl the pool stick in your hand once before coming down with it.

The sound of the wood splintering as it breaks across the man's back echoes through the bar, gaining the rest of the patron's attention. "Get her, boys," one of the men orders, as three of them begin to advance towards you.

Barnes looks back across to Steve expectantly, "Now?"

"Wait," Steve replies calmly, watching as you reach behind you on the pool table, fingers clutching at the purple four ball.

You throw the ball at the tallest guy, it smashes into his nose, blood splattering everywhere as he drops to his knees. The next guy, not as tall, lunges for you and you back-hand him with what's left of the pool stick, but he's unaffected as he slams you against the pool table. He jerks you around and the third man is behind you trying to pin your arms behind your back, but you feel his face against your hair and you quickly slam your head back with a little more force than you should. The sound of your skulls cracking against each other is sickening, and the crowd watching is now urging the fight to continue.

The biker in front of you is pissed by this point and as a couple more of their men start to approach the situation, he grabs you roughly again, turning as he flings you back and across the pool table. You tumble across the felt and Barnes catches you to keep you from rolling off the table.

Flipping your hair from your face, you glance between him, Sam, and Steve, the smile on your face purely mischievous, "Hey guys."

"Having fun?" Steve smirks, leaning against the pool table.

"Yea," you inhale deeply, before your face lights up with playfulness. "You want in?"

Steve gives you a nod and a sly smile crosses Bucky's face as he says, "Finally."

"I'm gonna help kick some ass," Sam begins matter-of-factly, waving his hand between you and Steve, "and then we're gonna talk about _whatever _crazy shit this is."

Back at the motel, you unwrap the bar rag from you hand, blood starts oozing from the slice along your index finger instantly and you stick your hand under the cool water pouring from the bathroom faucet. Watching as the blood mixes with the water, turning a pinkish color before running down the drain. The door to the small bathroom opens and you look up in the mirror to see Steve step inside before closing it behind him. There's a bruise beginning to form under his left eye, but other than that, he looks unscathed from the fight.

There had been punches thrown, bottles broken, and a few bones, but none of The Annihilators were left standing. _They should probably come up with a new name, _you had thought to yourself on the car right back.

"You started a bar fight tonight," he states walking over to lean against the sink beside you.

"Did I?" you look up at him innocently. "Are you mad?"

"Never," his tone is quiet, eyes full of lust, before he glances to your injured hand. "You good?" There's that tenderness again.

"Cut myself on a bottle," you reply, twisting the knob with your uninjured hand to turn off the water, then you hold up the injury up for him to inspect. "I'll live."

He takes the edge of your hand in his, folding the rest of you fingers down against your palm with this thumb, "Good." The way he looks at you as he pulls your finger into his mouth sends a chill through you. Feeling his tongue roll against the cut makes you shift uncomfortably. Him _wanting_ to taste you like this, is whole different sensation. You can't control yourself, mouth opening slightly as your fangs descend, a small moan following them.

This isn't you.

Letting some guy have so much control over you.

But you had a hand in creating this monster.

And now Steve Rogers owns you.


End file.
